


Blood Ties

by wargoddess



Series: A Family Affair [6]
Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Frottage, Inappropriate Erections, Incest, M/M, Parent/Child Incest, Scary Feelings, Sex Pollen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-26
Updated: 2019-05-26
Packaged: 2020-03-17 14:28:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18967108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wargoddess/pseuds/wargoddess
Summary: Right after "Flesh and Blood," Nero recovers with an awkward problem. Vergil helps, and doesn't.





	Blood Ties

     When Nero woke up hot, aching, and starving for more than food, his first thought was of Vergil.

     His second thought was, _Fuck Vergil_.  Which was unfortunate.  He amended this to, _Vergil can fuck off_ , and that was better.  Arm-stealing control-freak deadbeat asshole.  Nero was never going to ask him for anything.

     He shrugged off the sheet and got up, and only belatedly noticed Nico yawning awake beside the bed.  Which was a problem because, first, he was naked, and second, his dick was at full mast.  He panicked a little, torn between trying to find the pants that were nowhere to be seen and ripping the sheet off the bed, which would make it _look_ like he was panicking -- and before he could make the decision, Nico opened her eyes.  He cursed and ducked into the bedroom closet just as her eyes flew wide... and she burst out laughing.  Which was a reaction that no guy wanted, when he was in this kind of state, from any woman.

     "Get the fuck out of here!" he shouted through the closet door, his face burning.

     "I win that bet!" she crowed.  "I _knew_ it was white down there!"

     He was going to kill her.  "Who the hell are you betting on -- " Shit, fuck, God, damn, " -- with?  And get _out_ of here, Nico, I swear to God!"

     He could hear her getting up and gathering her things, though she was still laughing her ass off.  "I just stayed to make sure you were okay, dumbass, but obviously you're juuuuuust fine.  Kyrie wouldn't tell, so me and Lady tried to guess.  She said Dante was, but we figured since you were only a quarter demon -- "

     Jesus H. Motherfucking Christ.  Also, he really hadn't wanted to know that Dante had slept with Lady.  "I'm going to kill you _both_ \-- "

     " -- and _I_ said the freaky arm-growing-back thing meant it didn't matter how much demon you were, you was shore freaky enough to be freaky _everywhere_ \-- "

     He found his boots in the closet, along with his old clothes which someone -- Nico, his nose told him -- had shoved into the dirty-clothes bin.  Clumsily, not really aiming, he stuck an arm out of the closet and threw one of his boots at her.  She caught it and threw it back against the closet door, then finally left his room, cackling all the way down the hall.  Fucking _Nico_.

     He waited until he heard her get into the van and drive off, damn it, before finally slipping out of the closet.  He stank of sickness and sweat, and it made no sense to put on fresh clothing until he'd had a shower.  The rest of Devil May Cry was quiet, though if he paused long enough to really listen he could make out heartbeats on the next floor up, at the other end of the hall.  Dante's room.  Two sets of heartbeats, nearly matched in sleep-rhythm.  Nero bared his teeth in irritation.  Well, at least both bastards were asleep, so he wouldn't have to hear from them about Nico's little bet.

     In the shower, he glared down at the dick that was stubbornly refusing to cool down.  "I almost die, and this is how you thank me?" he murmured to it.  It bobbed a little -- assholes everywhere today -- and with a frustrated sigh he slumped against the shower wall and took a firm grip on the problem.  Barely thirty seconds later he shuddered violently, exhaled, and reached for the soap.

     The problem was that it didn't help much.  By the time Nero shut the water off and cleaned the bathroom, he'd sunk to maybe half-mast, but his balls were still tight and his skin still felt too small for him and the mere act of toweling off made him think of hands on his skin, and maybe tongues, and the slow scratching caress of scaled wings... aaaaaand maybe he needed to do some sparring.

     He put on pants and didn't bother with his boots or a shirt, went downstairs to cram down half of a roast beef sandwich he'd found in the fridge -- it didn't smell off, but Dante didn't eat anything but pizza and Nero couldn't remember ever buying it -- and made his way to the pool room.  It wasn't really a pool room.  There was a billiards table in one corner with balls racked, but Dante wouldn't let anyone play on it "in case demons dropped in," he always said.  Because Dante was weird.  But he had at least allowed Nero to add a couple of wing chun wooden dummies and a set of weights to the space. 

     The weights were basically cosmetic, superhuman strength being what it was, but sometimes it was soothing to lift.  Nero tried that for a while, and got bored.  Then he tried the dummy for a bit, pulling his strength as much as he could because the damn things were expensive to repair or replace, trying to let his thoughts flow into the state of concentration needed to focus on his stance and angles of attack and efficiency of movement.  He hadn't spent a lot of time on hand-to-hand since his time in the Order, when his trainers had basically realized it was better to stay out of his way and let him train himself -- but he'd begun to covet Dante's fiery gauntlets.  The next time he killed a powerful-enough demon, he was going to make its soul into a set for himself.  He was pretty sure he'd be able to get Dante to spar with him hand-to-hand, but Vergil preferred swordplay, so Nero was going to have to figure out a way to melee fight a damned katana, too.  Which made him wonder if Vergil _could_ fight hand-to-hand, and which made him try to imagine Vergil's fine, aristocratic hands sheathed in gauntlets of their own, and which made him think of Vergil's claws -- artful, black-pearlescent things, not as thick as Dante's but sharper, and deft as the fingers that he sometimes grazed along Nero's --

     Goddamn it.

     Flow and punch and jab and work through the kata, slow, fast.  Imagine where the strikes would go if the dummy was an opponent, and how long had it been since Vergil had let Nero suck his dick?  Over a month.  That time with Dante, which had been amazing, but Dante was a lazy, languid lover, and sometimes a guy just wanted somebody who would hold him by the hair and fuck his mouth until he choked --

     Nero's fist smashed through the dummy, and the wall behind it.  "Fuck!" he shouted, mostly in anger at himself.  Didn't help; the dummy was still kindling.  With a heavy sigh, he slumped back against an intact bit of wall to start pulling bits of wood and lathing out of his fist, where they'd jammed into the skin.

     "I see you're feeling better."

     Nero froze.  Fucking hell.  Should've paid attention to the heartbeats.  Of course Vergil now stood in the pool room, leaning against the bar as if he'd been there for hours.  He hadn't been.  He smelled of the shower himself, and his clothes were fresh; apparently he kept a change of clothes in Dante's room.  But that was his father, all about the appearances.

     He looked good.  Smelled better.  Nero's dick, which had stubbornly ignored his attempts to ignore it, abruptly reminded him that Vergil's presence meant that either sex or violence -- or a delicious, bruising, dizzying combination of the two -- were now on the possible menu.

     Except, belatedly, Nero realized he was staring.  And Vergil was looking back at him with that narrow-eyed, wry look on his face that meant he knew full well what Nero was thinking, and he was going to be an asshole about it.  Because Vergil was an asshole.

     Okay.  First, stop being obvious.  Nero turned away and started picking up pieces of wood.  "Yeah, I'm good," he said, dumping them in the big open trash bin nearby.  "Guess that poison wasn't as bad as it felt.  You and Dante find those commando-guys?"

     "Yes.  They're dead, along with most of the board of directors of the Centravista Corporation, including its CEO.  The poison that they used on you no longer exists."

     Yikes.  Though leave it to Vergil to be very damned thorough.  Nero found himself uncomfortable, however.  "They were human."

     "Yes."

     They _had_ tried to kill Nero, but...  "I've never killed, well, _people_ before."

     "I have."  He actually heard Vergil shrug.  And he also actually heard Vergil move off of the bar and start walking toward him this time, which was both better than Vergil's usual silent stalking, and worse.  The stalking, freaky as it was to realize that his own father was sometimes _hunting_ him, usually meant Vergil was in a hungry mood himself...  Aaaaaaand it didn't matter.  He needed to keep his cool. 

     So he turned, and didn't let himself get defensive when he found Vergil frowning at his chest.  Vergil reached up to rest a hand on one of Nero's pectorals, then turned him around; Nero felt Vergil's fingers find the spot on his back where the commandos had shot him with some kind of dart.  There was no scar, but somehow Vergil knew.

     (He tried, he really tried, not to react to Vergil's touch.  But his skin came all over goosebumps.)

     "Excellent," Vergil said, before letting him go.  And turning to leave.

     Nero watched him walk three steps before -- his voice shaking, his guts clenched with need -- he blurted, "Hey."  Vergil stopped, but didn't turn back.  "You, um.  You usually..."  Shit.  Shit.

     Vergil turned a little, so that Nero could see his raised eyebrow.  "Something wrong?"

     The question caught Nero a little off-guard, because... something _was_ wrong, wasn't it?  He could hardly think, he was so keyed up -- or rather, all he could think of was Vergil's strength shoving itself against his body, and -- _fuck_.

     "Y-yeah," Nero admitted.  "Something's off.  I don't feel right."  Vergil turned back, a frown on his face, and Nero couldn't look at him.  Too tempting to go to him and beg.  He stared at the fragments of the broken dummy, instead, where they stuck out of the garbage can.  Vergil glanced at it too, his expression turning thoughtful.

     "A near-death experience can touch off some odd reactions, in demons," Vergil said, after a moment.  "But if you need to fight...  sorry, I'm not in the mood.  And Dante's resting; he had a hard night."

     Nero tensed.  "Wait, what's wrong with D-- "

     "But I can give you this, at least."  Vergil gestured, and Nero felt the shiver of etherspace nearby as it disgorged something... large.  A moment later, a massive demon materialized in the room, taking up nearly half its area.  The demon was black, hooved, mostly quadripedal.  There was a single horn atop its head, and the eyes underneath bled red, as if blind.  It snorted, then Nero saw the nostrils of its surprisingly humanish nose twitch as it glanced at first Vergil, then Nero.  Then it focused on Nero.

     Nero had already gone into a defensive stance, sensing immediately that this was a high-order demon -- but to his confusion, the thing didn't attack.  "What the fuck is this?" he growled at Vergil.

     "A choice."  Vergil watched him, knowing, amused.  "You want something.  This demon is powerful enough to give it to you."  He shrugged, nonchalant.  "Maybe I have something else you want.  But you can have only one."

     And then, infuriatingly, he turned to go _again_.

     In frustration, Nero snarled after him, "Why is everything a fucking _test_ with you?  Why can't you just -- ?"

     "Because life is tests.  And because you shouldn't take anything for granted -- including me."  He shrugged.  "If you want something, Nero, you'll need to learn to fight for it."

     Patronizing _fuck_.  "I've been doing that since I was a child!"

     Vergil paused, just for a moment, and Nero heard his soft chuckle.  "Well, then.  This will be easy for you, won't it?"  And he resumed walking away.

     Nero stared after him, breathing hard, twitchy, his hands flexing.  He wanted Vergil.  He wanted those fucking gauntlets, and this demon was strong enough to give them to him.  He needed to fight, he needed to fuck.  And if he didn't do _something_ , right fucking _now_ , he was going to fucking lose it.

     So he called in the Black King and bared his teeth at the demon.  It moved at last, grinning savagely at him before rearing back.  Its torso rippled with muscle, and he saw its massive hands curl into fists, ready to fight --

     And Nero did not have the _patience_ for this shit.  With a snarl of abject fury, he blurred and sliced the fucking thing's head apart, in four bloody segments, plus off.  He landed, shoulders heaving, his thoughts a red haze, and turned before the demon's headless corpse had even landed.  He could feel the shape of its soul, white light and ferocity, and he snatched this forth, shaping it to his will.  There was a moment's resistance -- someone else owned this soul, besides the demon.  Or rather, they had, because this thing was his bitch now.  Nero shouted and _pulled_ , and that other tie snapped like glass.

     Silvery gauntlets and greaves, chased with white light, materialized on Nero's hands and feet.  Yeah, okay.  Nice.

     Then Nero blurred again and landed in the doorway of the pool room, which Vergil had only just reached.

     Vergil stopped, lifting an eyebrow.  He seemed unaffected by the implicit threat of Nero there, blazing with newfound power.  He had not yet called in the Yamato, either -- but it could come to him in an instant, Nero knew.  Vergil was never not dangerous.

     "Disappointing," he said, and Nero flinched despite himself.  "I'd thought that creature would give you a challenge for a few moments, at least."  A sigh.  "Dante keeps telling me that I underestimate you, and I'm beginning to realize he's right."

     Oh.  Nero relaxed and licked his lips.  "You, um, you don't have to go."

     "I gave you a choice, Nero.  You chose those."  Vergil nodded toward the gauntlets and greaves.

     Nero grimaced down at the shining weapons, belatedly realizing what this looked like.  He didn't want to _fight_ Vergil, damn it.  He banished the things to etherspace... but the blood still beat hard in his ears, and his hands twitched.  It made him reckless.  He blurted, "Well, I want you, too."

     Abruptly Vergil went very still, his eyes narrowing, and Nero sensed that his father's amusement had just evaporated.  "Do you, now?" he said.  Very softly.

     And Nero could not help himself.  He stepped _toward_ the unspoken threat in his father's tone, and shivered with the thrill of it before sense reasserted itself.  What the hell was he doing?  Was he going to, what, try to _force_ himself on Vergil?  Because besides being a thousand kinds of wrong, Vergil would cut his fucking head off.  But...  He stopped, making a sound of frustration and thwarted impulse.  "I, I don't," he began, and then couldn't think of any useful words.  But he made himself take a step back.

     To his increased frustration, Vergil's expression turned instantly contemptuous.  "If you don't have the will to _take_ what you want -- or die trying -- then get out of my way."

     What the fuck?  Abruptly Nero was furious, on top of ridiculously horny.  "I'm not a fucking _demon_ ," he snarled.  "I _ask_!"

     "And yet you haven't."

     Was that it?  Nero stared at Vergil, who now just looked bored.  But that was right, wasn't it?  He hadn't just come out and asked.  Mostly because he didn't like the idea of asking Vergil for shit, but...  He shuffled from foot to foot, face hot now with embarrassment.  Why was this so hard?  This was worse than his first time with Kyrie.  "I was hoping... maybe you would..."

     With a sound of annoyance, Vergil brushed past him.  He turned with Vergil and blurted, "Please, I... shit, I can't stop _thinking_ about you."

     It was inane, and he was going to burst some blood vessels from blushing, but that stopped Vergil, at least.  Vergil looked him up and down.  "My God.  How did you ever lose your virginity?"

     "Look, I never thought I'd be hitting on my fucking _father_ , okay?"  Nero spread his hands in an angry flail.  "What am I supposed to say, 'Hey, still a little raw about that whole arm amputation thing, but I really want to suck your dick for an hour, or maybe fuck, so let's just let bygones be bygones and get to it?'"

     Vergil laughed -- once -- so maybe Nero was making progress.  He turned back and folded his arms, regarding Nero skeptically.  Was he thinking about it?  Or waiting for something?

     There was only one thing that could be.  Nero had to look away, and take a deep breath, and clench his fists and try to think through so much want that he felt like he was drowning.  But then he steeled himself, and... got down on his knees. 

     "I'll do whatever you want," he said, looking at the floor.

     There was a moment's silence. 

     Then Vergil stepped close, and Nero winced -- but Vergil only took him by the chin, forcing Nero to look up.  Now his expression was haughty, disdainful... but that was interest in his eyes, at last.

     "Anything?" Vergil asked.  His voice was low, warning.

     Shit.  This was probably going to hurt, a lot.  Nero swallowed, however, and made himself meet that cold, flensing gaze.  "Yes.  Please."

     A thoughtful look, this time.  "And you don't want Dante?"

     "What kind of question is -- _no_."  Nero stared at him, confused, flustered, hating himself, and more turned on than ever.  Well.  If he was going to do this, then he was going to _do_ this.  He took a deep breath. 

     "Dante is... shit, he's amazing, you know that, but he isn't what I need, right now, see?  I don't even know what I need.  But _you_ always do.  So, I just...  You're so fucking beautiful, and I think you might kill me someday, and -- "  God, he was never going to be able to look Vergil in the eye again, even though he couldn't tear his gaze away from the man now.  It made him laugh, bitterly, with the ridiculousness of the situation.  "And I don't _mind_.  Isn't that completely twisted?  I'm terrified of you, and I want to fucking _kill_ you, and I also want you to fuck me until I can't walk, and I don't even know what to _do_ with any of that -- "

     Vergil's thumb shifted to cover his mouth.  "Enough.  You're babbling."  But he sighed.  "Poor, confused demon child.  My fault, I suppose.  If I'd had the raising of you..."

     Nero couldn't help shaking Vergil's finger off.  "You'd have killed me by now.  Don't even play that fucking game."

     At that, Vergil laughed outright -- a real, relaxed, not-at-all-bitchy-for-once laugh.  Then he sighed, and pulled Nero to his feet by his chin.

     "Come, then," he said.  "There is something I've had in mind, for you.  I suppose now is as good a time as any."

     Nero followed as he strode out of the pool room -- trying not to lag behind or follow too closely, and trying not to stare at the way Vergil walked and think about the strength in his legs and the graceful way he carried himself, and trying not to let his mouth water with anticipation, and failing miserably at just about everything.  It was that kind of day.

     They got back to Nero's room, where Vergil closed the door, as if this somehow mattered.  He'd fucked Nero in just about every other part of Devil May Cry, and Nero was pretty sure Dante wouldn't care if he woke up and heard them --

     Wait.  Nero frowned as Vergil started to take his clothes off.  "What's going on with Dante?"

     "Nothing that should concern you."  He glanced at Nero's pants, pointedly.  "Though he'll be fine."

     Nero blushed as he fumbled his pants off, and his dick popped out like Jack Nicholson with an axe in that movie.  Vergil merely snorted and went back to taking off his own clothes. 

     Which made Nero belatedly realize Vergil had _never taken his clothes off before_.  Before, he'd only ever removed or opened his clothes enough to do what he wanted with Nero.  So now Nero stared, trying not to pant and failing at that too, all kinds of fail going on up in here today, as Vergil emerged from the intricacies of his clothing like an alabaster statue from ancient sediment layers.  His skin was impossibly smooth and completely blemish-free.  Dante had said something about Vergil having it rougher than him during their childhood, but if Vergil had scars, they weren't on his skin.

     And when he brushed his hair back with careless habit, he was entirely as elegant and perfect unclothed as he'd always been in blue-black silk.  God.  Nero wished he could be that magnificent, one day.

     Vergil lifted an eyebrow as if he'd heard this thought, then came at Nero.  Stalking again.  Beautiful.  "What is it?"

     There was only one thing Nero could say.  "Can I please touch you?"

     Vergil took Nero's face in his hands.  "I thought that was the general idea."

     "You, uh, don't usually let me."

     Vergil paused, blinking as if genuinely surprised by this.  Then -- still cupping the back of Nero's head with one hand, he used the other to take Nero's hand.  He paused for a moment, looking at it significantly; it was Nero's regenerated right arm, and the locus of his demonic power.  When Nero squirmed at this scrutiny -- hard not to remember the pain, and impossible not to wonder if Vergil would take this arm, too, on a whim -- Vergil pulled his hand up... and laid it on his own shoulder.  Nero could not help inhaling a little, and he knew that his hand shook.  But when he gave in to temptation and drew a thumb-line along the nearby tendon of Vergil's throat, Vergil lifted his chin a little, watching Nero as he did so.  Responding to Nero's touch.

     Fucking hell.  Nero swallowed and let his hand trail away from this vulnerable point -- too tense, too much of an urge to do violence, too many of his wires were clearly crossed between the _fuck_ and _fight_ buttons.  But he slid his hand down Vergil's chest, and let his fingers pass, one by one, over the pale nub of Vergil's nipple.  It pricked right up, and Nero felt a hard, answering clench in his groin.  Shit.  Shit.  This was really happening.  He was going to die when he came this time, and it was going to be amazing.

     "There's a way this is going to go," Vergil said, stepping closer as if he actually liked Nero's caresses.  His voice had gone low again in that way that always promised pleasure, even if it sometimes came wrapped in pain.  Nero shuddered in conditioned response, his skin twitching for the sting, the bruise, the grip, and wondered if this was what it might feel like to go crazy.  Then Vergil shook him a little, making him focus.  "I'm going to do what I want with you.  I don't want to hear your mouth.  I don't want questions."  His fingers pressed a little at the nape of Nero's neck, and Nero shut his eyes and tilted his face up, making a little sound before he could control himself.  "Obey me, Nero.  And I promise:  this will be what you need."

     Nero swallowed hard, then nodded, keeping his lips pressed together to signal his obedience.  Vergil shook his head, just a little, as if this displeased him.  "Open your mouth."

     When Nero did, he thought he knew what to expect.  Vergil's hand on the back of his neck, inhuman strength forcing him to his knees, his mouth filled without inhibition or mercy.  But instead, Vergil...

     ...kissed him.

     Nero froze, blinking.  It was not the first time that Vergil had done so.  Nero remembered shying away from a kiss that very first time, when Nero had still been too prudishly horrified by the idea of fucking his father to be comfortable with anything resembling affection.  Lately, Vergil sometimes indulged him with superficial caresses of his cheek or light kisses as a reward, but Nero knew those were meaningless.  _This_ was not a light kiss, however.  As Nero stood there stunned, Vergil moved into his mouth and took up residence, tongue exploring Nero's depths and teeth nipping at his lips and applying gentle suction.  It made the raging, hungry need in Nero suddenly go still -- as if a ravening beast within him had suddenly had its attention caught, and held, by something so small and sweet that it should not have been of interest.  And yet it was. 

     Vergil pulled free long enough to push Nero onto the bed.  This broke the spell; otherwise, Nero might have stood there stupidly, mouth open, for God knew how long.  At Vergil's push, Nero went, backwards-crawling awkwardly up toward the pillows -- and completely unable to take his eyes off Vergil as Vergil knelt over him.  Was Nero still allowed to touch?  He reached up and smoothed his hands down the rocky muscle of Vergil's swordsman arms -- and when Vergil lowered himself onto Nero and claimed his mouth again, Nero could not stop himself from moving his hands up Vergil's flanks.  More muscle, and also that incredibly smooth, soft skin.  He'd seen Dante naked plenty; Dante did naked the way Nero did sweaters.  Dante was hairier, though only a little -- just a wispy white scraggle here and there, often in intriguing trails that led the way to intriguing places on his body.  Vergil, however, was as starkly bare as a moonscape.  The mysteries of him were not hidden, not teased or forewarned.  They were just there, for anyone brave enough to dare them.

     And as Vergil kept at his mouth -- God, Nero was going to come just from this if he kept it up -- Nero dared.  He spread his fingers and let his palms glide over the long expanse of Vergil's back.  He cupped Vergil's magnificent ass, and could not help spreading his own legs in a blatant plea as he did.  (And Vergil moved between his legs to oblige him!  He almost moaned out a thanks, before belatedly remembering Vergil's command to say nothing.)  He dragged fingertips up the planes of a thigh, and around a narrow hip.  And then... he let his hand work its way across soft skin and a sudden thicket of hair, stopping as it finally reached the warm, solid foundation of Vergil's cock.

     And Vergil sighed in such obvious pleasure that Nero whimpered back.  _Please.  Please, more._   It was so good.  He stroked Vergil slowly, as lightly as he dared because he had no idea what Vergil liked.  When Vergil moved away from his mouth at last to nibble at his ear and neck, Nero's hand clenched spasmotically -- and Vergil growled, thrusting back against him in a blatant demand.  Okay.  Okay, Nero heard that.  Yeah.

     It was awkward at first, angling his hand for a good grip and steady stroke.  Then he finally got the brilliant idea to reach for his own cock, which was at a better angle, and put them together.  Vergil immediately bit at the juncture of his neck and shoulder and thrust harder against him, and it felt so good that Nero gasped out a broken, "Hhhaaaahn," before fretting that Vergil would treat it as speech.  The truth was that Nero had forgotten how to talk.  Fortunately, Vergil ignored the not-word.

     He wrapped himself around Nero, however, arms sliding underneath him and legs bracing -- and then they fucked.  Nero supposed that technically it wasn't fucking, nobody's dick had gone into anybody else, but it _felt_ like fucking, and it made Nero forget himself so much that he wrapped himself around Vergil right back.  He dug his heels into the backs of Vergil's thighs and clutched at his back and pressed his face into Vergil's shoulder and sobbed as Vergil took him with steady, though quickening, strokes.

     It was crazy.  It was amazing.  He'd been braced for -- well, anything.  Broken bones, impalement, the kinds of things they did to each other all the time.  This?  He hadn't had this since Kyrie, and hadn't realized he still needed it.  The demon inside him dreamed such dark dreams.  And Vergil had taught him to own those dreams, hadn't he?  Because they were as much a part of Nero as his humanity, and if he did not embrace the demon, the demon would swallow him.  But he was this, too.  Fuck, he _really needed_ this, too.

     And how had Vergil known?  Because Vergil knew everything.

     So Nero threaded his fingers through Vergil's hair and held him tight and begged for more with his whole body.  And when Vergil ground the orgasm out of him, Nero cried his pleasure into his father's skin and knew only glory, for a little while.

     When he came back to himself, Vergil was still on him -- no.  Tight against him as Nero was, he felt the minute tremors of his father's pleasure, and felt the pulse of wetness against his belly, there to mingle with his own.  Then Vergil relaxed, and Nero felt him sigh and kiss just under Nero's ear, where he was most sensitive.  It sent a whole complex of shudders through him, before -- pure impulse -- he turned his head and kissed Vergil back.  Before he shut his eyes, he caught the flick of one of Vergil's brows as he raised them, but Nero didn't care.  He felt too good.

     Vergil let him have this, too, for a long and warm while.  When he finally stirred, Nero was reluctant to let him go -- which was a thing that would stun him later, but which felt perfectly natural in the moment.

     Vergil propped himself up, treating Nero to the awesome sight of his father's hair mussed into a wild mess.  He looked satisfied with himself, though, in an arrogant way that might have annoyed Nero if Vergil hadn't plainly earned it.  Vergil was always going to look like Vergil.  But then he sobered.

     "In here," he told Nero, "when that door is closed, you may have this.  Nowhere else."  His voice grew an edge, and Nero blinked at the realization that it had been soft before this.  "Everywhere else, I am who I am, Nero.  We both are what we are.  Understand this.  But here, alone, I may be... something else.  For you."  He ran fingers over Nero's bottom lip, so gently, and with unmistakable warmth.  "You must _ask_ for this.  And I won't always give you what you want.  Is that understood?"

     Nero stared up at him, marveling.  That Vergil, of all people, would offer him this...  It was the purest of kindnesses.  All the dozens of chaotic, conflicting feelings that had consumed Nero earlier were gone now, abruptly subsumed into a new and singular immensity that...

     Oh, God.  No.  Nero ducked his eyes, hoping that Vergil wouldn't see.  He wasn't ready to feel like this.  His father had been his enemy too recently, and hovered too close to that line even now.  If Vergil ever saw gain in doing so, he _would_ betray them; Nero and Dante both knew it.  And if he did that, no wound that Vergil had ever inflicted on him during their loveplay would hurt half as much.

     Gentle sex, though?  Maybe.  _Very_ occasionally, and with every possible protection in place to guard his heart against someone he knew, _knew_ , it wasn't safe to love... maybe.

     "Yeah," Nero said, at last.  He licked his lips, cleared his throat.  "Understood.  Hundred percent."

     Something changed in Vergil's expression, just for a moment.  He looked... sad?  Which was impossible.  Then again, it was also impossible that he bent to lay another kiss against Nero's temple that was astonishingly tender, before finally sighing and beginning the process of disentangling them.

     It was on the tip of Nero's tongue to say, _Don't go_.

     Instead, he sat up, pushing a hand through his hair and trying to pretend that he hadn't been completely fucked up by this.  He didn't think he was doing a good job of it, but Vergil politely ignored his little breakdown, which was mighty nice of him. 

     Vergil.  Nice.  He couldn't take it anymore.

     "That demon was weak as shit," Nero said.  He had to clear his throat to make sure his voice was rough enough, careless enough, when he spoke.  "If you're going to give me another test, a _choice_ , make sure it's worth my time."

     Vergil, in the middle of shrugging on his coat, looked both skeptical and amused.  Maybe he saw through Nero's effort to be tough, paper-thin as it was.  Or maybe that was just Vergilface (tm).  "Well, that one was softened up by Dante, me, and twenty or so years of being disembodied in etherspace, so I would _hope_ you found it easy to deal with."

     Nero then scowled in real irritation.  He got up and went to the sink to start scrubbing at the drying mess on his belly with a wet cloth.  "Well, what the fuck did you give it to me for, then?"

     "Because I have no need of gauntlets, which is why those sat around unused all this while, and you do.  And because I don't like giving you what you want without making you work for it.  Dante will say I spoil you."  Vergil pulled on one of his gloves and flexed his hand.  "But I suppose you _have_ grown stronger."  He considered for a moment, pursing his lips, and then said, "It might do you some good to overthrow a demon king."

     Okay.  What.  Nero rubbed his eyes.  "I am never going to be able to understand you, am I?"

     "No."  Vergil turned to Nero's mirror and grimaced at his hair before running a hand through it to restore it to its usual style.  "But the point stands.  You're obviously ready.  And with Urizen gone -- "  Nero caught the momentary curl of his upper lip, but it was gone almost immediately.  "His replacement has probably taken control of the underworld by now.  There's always another demon king, queen, or gender-neutral entity lurking around to fill the vacuum of power.  And _that_ one should make a fine weapon for you.  Assuming it doesn't kill or enslave you, that is."

     Nero glared at his back.  "I'll take that under advisement, thanks."

     Vergil made a disinterested sound and moved to leave.  Nero watched him, biting his lip and wondering if their peculiar truce still stood.  The door was still closed.  He floundered and waffled and finally, when Vergil put a hand on the doorknob, blurted, "Um.  Thanks."

     Vergil paused to regard him for a long moment.  Again, Nero suspected, he was surprised.

     Then he puffed out an irritated sigh.  "I'm going home," Vergil said.  "Between Dante's eccentricities and yours, I'm exhausted.  I don't want to deal with another interpersonal crisis for at least a week.  Don't call me or look for me, unless you want a fight."

     With that and a swirl of his coat, Vergil left.  He didn't bother to close the door behind himself, and Nero heard him thump down the hall and out of Devil May Cry.  Given that normally Vergil moved with the silence of a hunting cat, Nero was pretty sure the stomping was just a pointless bit of melodrama on his part.  Men that age shouldn't throw tantrums; it didn't look good on them.

     In his wake, Nero flopped back in the sheets, sighing and deciding that he might as well get some more rest.  He'd spent the past twenty-four hours fighting for his life, recovering from that, getting a new weapon, and horning after his ridiculous sociopathic father in some kind of near-death-experience-influenced mating drive.  It had been a busy day.  Probably for the best that it was over.  His eyes drifted shut.

     _For you_ , Vergil had said.

     Nero opened his eyes to find himself tracing his bottom lip with his fingertips. 

     Setting his jaw, he put his hand down and turned onto his side and shut his eyes.  For the best, yes.  Definitely for the best.

     But he did not sleep for some time.

**Author's Note:**

> (Sighs in resignation.) Fuck it. I give up. I'm just gonna write this fucking series forever. I live here, now.
> 
> Poor, poor Vergil. Playing top to these two horny, crazy assholes has got to be exhausting. That said, I tried to hint here that Nero's got a little of his dad's toppy-ness. He's not stupid -- Vergil really will cut his fucking head off -- but the impulse is there, and could come out in other ways. I suppose we'll see.
> 
> Yes, those are the Beowulf gauntlets/greaves from DMC3. Never made sense that the game gave them to Vergil. Nero, though; he's got a brawler's personality.


End file.
